


Pyrrhic

by DaftDays



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Torture, Demons, Dreams and Nightmares, M/M, Reincarnation, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:49:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1726691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaftDays/pseuds/DaftDays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>”I assume you know of the exules.”</p><p>Erwin does not nod in agreement, he bows his head, deep and proper, in front of the Master of death. Of course he knows of the exules, he doubts there is a single demon down here that doesn't, even the lowest of the lowest have at least heard stories of the evasive souls, the travellers, the escapees and exiles all at once. They are the source of stories and myths for humans as well, the wandering souls, those with the gift or the curse of reincarnation. </p><p>”We have found an exul, a particularly impressive one. And you will be the one to go retrieve it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pyrrhic

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by [35gramsperliter's](http://35gramsperliter.tumblr.com/) amazing demon!Erwin art.
> 
> This fic includes blood, gore, and torture and also brief mentions of vomit, please be cautious if you don't like to read about such things. I will update the tags as the story proceeds.
> 
> Here is [my tumblr](http://daftd.tumblr.com/post/87534600152/pyrrhic) in case you have any questions or just feel like dropping by and saying hi.

Chapter 1

At first, there is nothing.

He is no-one, and there is nothing. He can't tell if it is light or dark around him, he doesn't know whether his eyes are open or not. He isn't even sure if he has eyes to begin with. He thinks he does, he has a feeling he should have eyes or at least he has had them before but when that was he doesn't know. It must have been a long time ago he thinks, or maybe he doesn't think, he only feels, or maybe it is someone talking to him, feeding him these ideas he claims as his own thoughts in this vast nothingness around him. Perhaps it's wrong to say even that much, maybe he is part of this emptiness, a consciousness of the vague idea that is indeed nothing, or maybe he is a consciousness floating inside this empty, vast void that is neither yet both light and dark, filled with all colours and none that he can't really see because his eyes that may not be there might be shut and his ears, ears he doesn't know if he has, can't hear a thing.

It's a strange feeling, at least he supposes it should be, he can't really tell. But even if it is strange it is the comfortable kind of strange, not bad or unpleasant in the slightest. He is not happy but he is not unhappy either, he just... is. He desires nothing, longs for nothing, fears nothing, he is content just being here and being nothing, alone.

That much he knows. He is alone, there is no-one here but him. He is more alone than he ever has been and that is good, that is just fine with him, he is content like this. To have someone here, in the empty neverending space that is this place, it would change everything, it would interrupt his calm and peace. This is good, this is how he wishes it to be until the end of time, although he has a feeling that time does not exist here, and even if it does it is not the same concept of time he has known. It's different, not better or worse, only different, and that is fine with him too. Everything is fine, he is as well, and he does not want anything to change.

But of course, everything does.

He does not know how long he has been there when it finally happens. It could have been a very short or a very long time but it does not matter, all this emptiness ceases to exist, his reality distorts and warps when he feels it; there is someone else here with him and his nothing around him has become something and suddenly he realizes that he does, at least, have ears and perhaps then he has eyes as well.

”Welcome, Commander Erwin Smith, to Hell.”

The voice is soft yet raspy, beautiful yet dreadful, it's both so quiet it's almost inaudible and so loud it booms in his newly found ears and makes them hurt. The pain is sharp, it's sudden and unexpected, and with the pain he blinks his eyelids that he did not know he had some time ago, and he opens his mouth as well to let out a soft, surprised sound.

It is silent around him, again, and this time it is really silent. It is silent and he is blinking and what used to be nothing around him is starting to take shape. It's both slow and sudden, the way the colors and the lack thereof form different things, they melt into place to shape walls around him, a room he now realizes, a simple room although he thinks he can see through the walls if he looks hard enough, but he doesn't dare to try because suddenly he has a feeling that he doesn't really want to know what is out there. It's hard enough to tell where the walls actually are, at first they seem to be close, so close he doubts two men could stand within them comfortably and then they are far away, so far he can't even see them and in the end he stops trying and focuses on himself, instead.

Erwin Smith, the voice has said, commander Erwin Smith. It sounds familiar, it does, but he can't really place it. It is a name, he knows, and he suspects it might belong to him, but he can't be quite sure. If he is indeed a commander, he probably should have something or someone to command and he doesn't think he has, not here at least. For some reason, the thought makes him happy in a way that he doesn't understand but he doesn't waste time fighting it either. If it makes him happy it can't be bad, although even happy feels odd after feeling nothing for such a long time.

So, because he can't place the name, he looks at himself instead. Either there is a mirror in front of him or he can float out of his body to look at himself, he doesn't know which but it doesn't matter, not really, what does is that the can get a good look at himself and that is it.

He is standing with his back to the wall, completely naked but he doesn't find it shameful in the least, this is how a human body naturally is, clothes are unnecessary here. He thinks he looks pretty tall but that might only be in his own head, in this place there is nothing to compare his height to and it's fine. So, he is tall he decides, and he looks like he might be rather heavy but with muscle instead of fat. His body is dirty, it's speckled with dust and mud and what looks like it might be dry blood and there is fresh blood too.

He should have two arms, he thinks, but he doesn't, he has only one and where the other should be there is nothing but a stump of an arm, slowly dripping blood to the floor. The stump is limp, unmoving, silently bleeding and nothing more. His other arm, though, it's pulled straight to his side, up until there is a straight line from his shoulder to his wrist and there is a shackle around his wrist holding him to the wall, and another one around his elbow. His hand is soaked with blood all the way up to the metal ring around his wrist but this blood, it doesn't drip, it doesn't seem to be going anywhere. It stains his hand and glistens on his skin and he has a sudden violent urge to go wash the hand but somehow he knows it would not help. That blood he can't wash away for it is not his own.

Enough of his arms, he decides, and looks down instead. His feet are pulled slightly apart and there are shackles around his ankles as well, making sure he doesn't run, doesn't even try and he is dirty all the way down to his toes, dirty but muscled, strong, even though his strength looks as if it is strained by this place.

His cock hangs between his legs, limp and for now, he thinks, useless, and his head has lolled forward, his chin pressing to his collarbone, a hint of stubble on his jaw and cheeks. His hair is light but dirty, caked with mud and dirt and blood, and he tries to get a good look at his face to see if he can get a good look but before he can there's another shift inside the room and he is no longer alone and he can no longer see himself, he can only see through his own eyes and he suddenly wishes he could not because what's standing there in front of him is worse than any nightmare he has ever had.

”Not remembering, are we?” the voice asks and it's the same voice as before but it's coming from the creature in front of him and not out of the thin air, and he tries to pull back, to avoid its touch when it reaches one blood-drenched hand towards him but it's no use. A finger presses to his forehead and he is screaming, screaming so hard he fears his voice will be forever gone because suddenly he remembers.

He remembers everything.

Erwin Smith, that is his name, he is Erwin Smith and he is the commander of the Survey Corps, he wears the Wings of Freedom with pride and hope as he rides to the battle, the last one, with the final remaining titans. He remembers the titans and he remembers the soldiers, his soldiers, the soldier carrying the wings but also many with the Rose, joining them to defeat the threat to humanity once and for all, he remembers riding out of the gates and into the open, the battle, he remembers Hanji riding by his side, screaming at him, laughing at him. He remembers Eren, now in his titan form, roaring what sounds like a battle cry to the vast blue sky, and he knows without looking that Mikasa and Armin are on his shoulders, ready to battle, blades in their hands.

It's all coming back to him so fast, the battle, the walls of his bedroom in his childhood home, his father's smiling face as he teaches him how to write his name on the board with a chalk, his mother's tears when the soldiers arrive on their doorstep to tell her her husband has passed away in a terrible accident. He remembers his instructor at the academy yelling at his face, trying to force him into showing an emotion and he remembers the way his the instructor nearly broke a vein when he only smiled back.

He remembers the female type titan, her capture, he remembers Nile and he remembers Mike and he remembers being a soldier in training and being promoted into a captain and then finally, to commander, and most of all, he remembers Levi.

He remembers Levi as a street rat, a thief with unauthorized gear, his face being pushed into a puddle in the undercity, his grey eyes promising a long and painful death to Erwin and Mike and everyone else involved. He remembers taking Levi with him and he remembers how that flame never goes out in his eyes, how it flickers and wavers but never completely dies.

He remembers the way Levi flies through the air, all grace and beauty and deadly precision, like a bird, a trained hunting hawk that is never truly tame, wild and beautiful and frightening all the same yet he knows he has nothing to fear because every time Levi returns to his side, Levi is always there, always there for him and he aspires to be the same for Levi, he remembers it all so clearly it hurts. He remembers Levi in the final battle, he remembers seeing him take off at his command and soaring through the skies, his blades glistening in the sun and he remembers so, so many things he forgets to breathe for a long while.

The being is standing still in front of him, so still Erwin has almost forgotten it is there. When he looks up again, the memories still flashing behind his eyes, he realizes he has never been so frightened in his entire life. He understands it now, where he is and he knows this is where he belongs. 'I will pay my debts in hell one day', those were his own words, his words and no-one else's and he has accepted them a long ago. This is what he deserves, he knows he does, the blood of his comrades that still stains his hand proves that much, but even so it does not make him immune to the fear.

In front of him stands every friend that has ever died for him, for his words, for his promises of a free mankind, every soldier he has sent out to their death outside the wall, every man and woman that has ever lost their life because of him. There are soldiers and their widows, men and women, and children too, children of those who let themselves die of sorrow after their partners perished outside the walls.

There is a young woman who died of a gear malfunction during standard practice after Erwin accidentally skipped one set of gear during his turn of the equipment check, there is a man who was part of the first team he ever led by himself, crushed to death by a titan when Erwin failed to identify it as an aberrant at first, and then there is Mike, looking at him with eyes so full of fear Erwin can hardly recognize them.And then finally, there is his father, his father with the familiar smile on his lips but eyes so sad they make Erwin wish he could reach out and tell his father how sorry he is, for everything, that it is his fault, everything is.

The creature in front of him is all of them, his face shifting and changing to be each of them in turn yet still being all of them at once, and its numerous hands are all reaching for him, all longing to be the first one to get their revenge yet none of them quite touching. There are so many of them Erwin knows it's futile to count, it would be of no use, and he tries to close his eyes against the repulsive sight but it does not help, he can still see even more clearly now, see every one of them crying and cursing and screaming for revenge, cursing his name, cursing him, wishing he would rot in hell forever and ever.

They are all here and there is no escape for him, no relief, nothing but pain and burn and he accepts it, he accepts it all, he holds his head high despite the fear and he looks in the eyes of every one of those people and readies himself for the pain. Erwin doesn't believe for a second that he can take it, he doesn't even wish for any kind of a second chance because this is what he deserves, but there is one thing he locks deep within his mind to hold onto when the pain gets too intense for him to even think.

Levi is not here. He knows, he would have noticed, and there is no Levi within these dead people, Levi is not here to blame him, to torment him, to get revenge on a life lost. Levi has survived, he made it through the final battle, Levi is not here and in that Erwin will forever take solace and so he opens his eyes when the being in front of him steps forward, the cries of the dead still ringing in his ears.

”Do not worry, Erwin Smith”, it says, its voice holding an echo of every voice of the dead, still burning and stabbing Erwin's ears until they are bleeding, leaking blood to his jaw and neck.

”In time, you will no longer remember, you will no longer be, there will no longer be a commander Erwin Smith. But we will keep your remains, every shred that is left of you, and you will be born again to be one of us, one of ours, molded into what you will become by our hands”, it says and then it holds out a hand, or maybe many hands, and they are holding something, something familiar yet terrifying and Erwin can't help the bile rising in his throat.

”But first things first”, the demon says and it smiles with the uncountable faces it has.  
”We got your deposit, and it is only fair to give it back now that you are here.”

The demon is holding an arm, a burnt and mutilated arm that looks broken in so many places it's hard to even recognize anymore. The skin is torn or burnt off as if acid has been poured on it, there is bone showing in more places than one and in others it looks like the flesh is starting to rot. The arm is bleeding too, slowly dripping black blood from where it has been cut off the body it once belonged to. Erwin recognizes it anyway, recognizes his own fingers even though they are torn and tormented and no longer, or maybe not yet, part of his body, he knows that cut where he sliced the arm off himself to keep from being eaten by the titan.

And so, when the demon steps closer, still holding the arm and carrying what looks like a an iron needle so hot it's glowing red and white, Erwin stays still. It's as much from fear as it is from determination, but when the arm is pressed back to its place at the stump he has and the fiery needle starts puncturing his skin to stitch him back together the burn is much worse than it should be, it's so much more pain than he has ever experienced in his life. It didn't even compare when the same arm was bitten off by the titan, it was nothing like this, the pain sears through him like flames burning his skin, the black blood from his torn arm pushing into his veins, the needle pushing in and pulling out and the agony radiates through his skin like nothing has before.

The faces, they are all watching him, all staring at him, some laughing, some only filled with blood lust and glee, and some sad but none of them turns away and neither does Erwin, he wants to bear it like he knows he should. He stares back at them until his right arm is back in place and shackled to the wall like his left but the pain doesn't go away and he does't give in, he refuses to give up, to look away even as agony sweeps through him in waves, again and again.

He holds onto his memories of Levi even when he can take no more and his mouth opens into a gurgled scream, blood bubbling up his throat and out of his mouth as the demon cuts into his flesh, tears away his skin, digs its claws into his belly and rips, strips him of everything he knows he is or at least once was in both body and mind.

He holds onto the image of a dark-haired man, small yet full of strength and power and skill, so full of trust for him and only for him, he holds onto it even after he can no longer remember the names of either the man or himself. He clings to the memory of the man flying, of him spreading his white and blue wings and taking off to the sky and for a moment he can almost feel the cooling wind on his face but then he is back to his cell, with flames licking the last remains of skin from his face.

And they hack away his legs and he has screamed so much he no longer can, but he can still feel it when they throw his legs to the fire. He can see them burn and still he refuses to let go of that one man, the stern face that stares up at him, hard and unflinching, and the way those thin lips part in the quietest of gasps and how those cheeks catch the faintest shade of red, how his slim fingers held a blade and dealt death around him as if the man was Death himself, and he holds on even when he can no longer remember whether the man was his father, brother, friend or lover or maybe his enemy.

He holds on, he cries and he screams and he refuses to let go, and then there is nothing.

***

”I assume you know of the exules.”

Erwin does not nod in agreement, he bows his head, deep and proper, in front of the Master of death. Of course he knows of the exules, he doubts there is a single demon down here that doesn't, even the lowest of the lowest have at least heard stories of the evasive souls, the travellers, the escapees and exiles at the same time. They are the source of stories and myths for humans as well, the wandering souls, those with the gift or the curse of reincarnation. Souls that cling to life and refuse to let go, souls that avoid all reapers and slip from their grasp with skill that seems almost impossible, souls bearing such guilt or desperation that they can not let go. They roam through different lives, different times, they are born again and again until they finally find what they are looking for or fall prey to a cunning reaper with enough skill to catch them between lives.

Exules are rare and strong and therefore they are valuable beyond measure, and only the best are ever sent after them. As far as Erwin knows, there has not been an exul reaped in the last century or so, counting in human years, but seeing that he is not a reaper, never has been and never will be, he could as well be mistaken.

”Very good.” The Master speaks with a voice barely above a whisper yet it holds such a tone that it is impossible to look away when he speaks. It's a voice of a gentle mother, soft and alluring, singing lullabies of eternal rest yet at the same time it's cold as iron, hard and unforgiving as the grave the corpses are buried in, and Erwin can't help but to listen, his head still bowed in submission.

”We have found an exul, a particularly impressive one. And you will be the one to go retrieve it.”

**Author's Note:**

> _Exul (latin) - A person who is exiled, exile, wanderer._
> 
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> Thank you for reading, kudos and comments are much appreciated!
> 
> I hope to update soon but I can promise nothing.


End file.
